Christmas for the District Nurses

by Annie Groves

  ‘Hello, girls, what can I get you?’ A familiar figure was standing at the bar.

  ‘Billy! What you doing here? Shouldn’t you be at home getting ready for the big day?’ Peggy came to an abrupt halt at the sight of the young man grinning sheepishly over the top of his pint.

  ‘Dutch courage,’ he admitted, setting down his glass. ‘Come on, what’ll it be? You might as well take advantage of my last night as a free man.’

  Clarrie laughed. ‘Surely you of all people aren’t having second thoughts, Billy?’

  Billy gave her an incredulous look. ‘Me? Of course not. It’s just, well, you know, I’ve got to stand up in front of everyone and say my vows. What if I mess it up? I’m getting all nervous just thinking about it.’ He grinned to make a joke of it but they could see his hand was shaking a little.

  Peggy faced him seriously. ‘You won’t, Billy. And, even if you do, who’s going to care? Kath won’t, she’ll be glad that you finally made it to the altar at last. She won’t want you smelling like a brewery though, I can tell you that for a fact.’

  Billy shook his head firmly. ‘I only just got here. I won’t be staying. Only wanted to settle me nerves a bit then I’ll get back to Ma’s, make sure she’s all set for tomorrow. What can I get you?’

  ‘Half a shandy,’ said Clarrie at once.

  Peggy was tempted to say port and lemon, but that drink had been her downfall once too often. ‘I’ll have the same,’ she said, and caught Clarrie’s brief glance of approval.

  ‘Then I’ll have a half meself as a top-up and that’s it, no more till after the … the wedding.’ Billy suddenly went bright red. ‘I still can’t believe it. I’m really marrying Kath tomorrow. How about that?’ His eyes shone as he passed them their shandies.

  ‘Cheers, Billy,’ said Clarrie. ‘If anyone deserves to be happy, it’s you and Kath. We’ll be there in our glad rags to wish you well. Half eleven, isn’t it?’

  ‘I got to be early,’ Billy grinned. ‘I’ll be in no end of trouble otherwise. I’m not even on duty this evening.’

  ‘I should hope not! Not on the eve of your wedding, Billy. Let the ARP cope without you for once.’ Peggy took a sip of her drink.

  ‘Anyway Stan’s working tonight so we’re all in the best hands possible.’ Billy carefully poured his half of bitter into his pint glass, wishing he didn’t feel so shaky.

  ‘I’d have thought he’d be wanted back home,’ Clarrie said. ‘Aren’t we all going back there tomorrow after the service?’

  Billy nodded. ‘Yes, Ma couldn’t cope with having a crowd of people, Kath’s bedsit is smaller than that table over there, and we don’t have no spare cash to hire a hall. Besides, she feels as if Jeeves Street is her second home, so it’s the best thing all round. I’m ever so grateful.’

  ‘It’s only what you deserve, Billy,’ Peggy repeated with sincerity, even as a little voice whispered that she too had known that thrill of anticipation and sheer happiness, and would never find it again.

  The atmosphere in the church was calm, with a faint smell of dust, flowers and beeswax. There was a moment of silence which felt to Billy as if it lasted a lifetime. Then Kath looked up at him, blinked hard and said, very clearly so that everyone could hear: ‘I do.’

  Billy thought his heart would burst with happiness and pride. He looked down at her and met her eyes, which were the most beautiful in the world.

  ‘You may kiss the bride,’ said the vicar, and Billy didn’t need to be told twice. Even as he did so he could sense the rush of approval from their guests, ranged along the front pews.

  Kathleen had not wanted to wear white. She had done so for her first wedding, and that had brought her precious little joy. Now that clothing was growing harder to come by, it was a waste of time, effort and material to have a dress that could be worn only once. She had gone for the more practical choice of a neat suit in soft grey featuring a nipped-in waist, with a deep rose blouse that she had made herself. It flattered her delicate colouring. Mattie had done her hair first thing in the morning, persuading it to fall in waves, sweeping it up at the sides so it wouldn’t get in her eyes.

  Billy knew this was not a repeat of her previous disastrous marriage. They would start out differently, and do everything differently. He would be a proper husband to her. After today, they would move into their new house and start their life. He would show her what a happy partnership could be like. He remembered how it was when his own father had been alive – how contented his parents had been, comfortable to accommodate each other. He would build on that. She deserved nothing but the best.

  The organ began to play and the vicar gently gestured to the newlyweds that they should turn and make their way back down the aisle. Billy grinned and Kath smiled back up at him. ‘Off we go, then,’ she breathed, tucking her hand through the crook of his arm.’

  ‘Off we go,’ he repeated. ‘You and me, Kath. Together from now on.’

  The Banhams’ kitchen was full to bursting, and so was their front parlour. If the weather had been warmer, the guests would have spilled outside into the back yard, but the bitter chill had put a stop to that. Everyone crowded inside, enjoying the spread that Flo had conjured up from pooled ration cards, friends’ and family’s generosity and sheer ingenuity. At the centre of it all stood the happy couple, both of them still grinning from ear to ear.

  Billy was in his only good suit, with a new white shirt and borrowed smart striped tie. He’d loosened the knot and undone his top button as soon as he’d reached Jeeves Street, not being used to such formal restriction. Now he laughed with relief. He hadn’t made a mess of his vows after all, but had stood at the altar and spoken with complete conviction. Kath could now set aside the hated surname of Berry and become Kathleen Reilly. They would change Brian’s name too. Billy loved the little boy as if he was his own son, and in truth had already been a far better father to him than Ray had ever been.

  Brian himself wore a new pair of smart tweed shorts and had started the day in a new pale green shirt that now had food down it. Nobody minded. Flo privately vowed to clean it later, and he could borrow one of Gillian’s jumpers. Gillian was proudly copying Brian and smearing her own blouse with pickle. Flo was tempted to intervene but it would have meant dashing through a group of people and creating a scene; today was not the day for it.

  Attracting nearly as much attention as Kathleen and Billy was Harry Banham, back on a rare visit home. He sat in an armchair, carefully propped on cushions. Even though he had suffered his injuries eighteen months ago, he was still receiving treatment for them, and had recently undergone yet another operation. His old spirit had returned, though, and he encircled Edith’s waist with his good arm. She was perched on one arm of the chair, happy to be snuggled next to Harry, conscious of the warmth of him through the material of her best frock.

  ‘Us next,’ he murmured, his eyes glinting.

  Edith giggled. ‘Can’t wait, Harry.’ She turned to face him. ‘We’ll get you patched up a bit more first though.’

  Harry pretended to be offended. ‘What, you mean you miss my ravishing good looks?’

  ‘You’ll always be the most handsome man in the room to me, Harry.’ Edith’s voice grew serious. ‘But you know as well as I do that there will be more operations to come. We don’t want to ruin the chance of them succeeding. I really, really don’t want to wait but it’s for the best. For the time being, at any rate.’

  Harry pulled her closer still. ‘I’d marry you tomorrow if I could. You mean the world to me, Edie.’

  She tipped back her head and laughed. ‘I know,’ she said happily. She wanted to be Harry’s wife more than anything, but realised that any delay in his treatment might mean it was less likely to be fully effective. There were all sorts of new developments in the treatment of facial burns, as so many airmen had suffered them during the Battle of Britain. Harry didn’t need the kind of reconstruction that some of them did, but he’d had a skin graft on one side of his face to repair th
e worst of the damage there. Fortunately his hair had begun to grow back and he could wear it a little longer than the standard army crew cut, to mask the upper scars.

  Edith couldn’t decide if it made it better or worse that she was a nurse. Sometimes she could take a step back and recognise how wonderful it was, that the surgeons had such skill and could help mend what would have been permanent terrible disfigurement only a few years ago. Next she would remember all the risks that came with any surgery and her heart would fill with dread that Harry would react badly to the anaesthetic or go down with a dangerous infection. Then she would give herself a talking-to. After all, she had thought she had lost him for good. She would take him back into her willing arms whatever shape he was in; if he could be given some semblance of his former appearance, then so much the better.

  Clarrie came over, balancing a plate of Spam sandwiches in one hand. ‘They let you come home, then?’ she asked. ‘We didn’t know if you’d be allowed out yet.’

  Harry smiled up at his old school friend. ‘Didn’t want to miss this,’ he said. ‘I felt bad that I couldn’t say for certain that I’d be here. Billy wanted me to be his best man but there was a chance the last operation would be put back a week and I knew I couldn’t say no to that.’

  ‘Course not.’ Clarrie put her plate down on a side table before its contents fell off. ‘There, help yourselves. Anyway, his mate Ron did a grand job. He scrubs up well, don’t he? I’ve never seen him in a suit before. And it was lovely that your dad gave Kath away.’

  ‘Yes, well, she’s almost family so it was only right,’ Harry said, accepting the sandwich that Edith passed him. ‘Her own dad passed away years ago and she don’t get on with her brothers. Their loss, I say.’

  Edith nodded vigorously. She knew what that felt like; she had very little to do with her own brothers, who had thought she’d got ideas above herself when she’d taken up nursing.

  ‘Joe didn’t get leave, then?’ Clarrie asked, smoothing down her turquoise cardigan, which she’d teamed with a blue and green scarf, knowing those colours set off her red hair.

  ‘No, he hasn’t made it,’ said Harry, his expression fading. ‘Haven’t seen him for ages, have we, Edie?’

  ‘No, more’s the pity. We don’t even know where he is these days.’ Edith automatically cast a glance across the room in Alice’s direction, to where her friend was talking to Mary. If Alice didn’t know where Joe was, then nobody did. As their friendship was partly based on a common love of books, he would write to her and tell her about what he was currently reading. Then Alice would work out where the author of the book was from, or where it was set. That would be where Joe was at the time of his writing the letter. But there had been no letters for a while. Edith had the feeling that Alice was more concerned than she let on.

  Clarrie picked up the empty plate. ‘I’ll get you some more, shall I?’ she asked, and moved off before either of them could answer. Edith appreciated it; she just wanted to stay cuddled up tight to Harry, and the less he moved around the better.

  ‘I don’t suppose Kath and Billy are going on honeymoon,’ Harry said.

  ‘No, it’s too hard to travel and they don’t have much money to spare,’ Edith said. ‘They’re going to their new house and Brian’s staying here, so they can have a bit of time on their own.’

  Harry gave her a squeeze. ‘Lucky them.’

  ‘Yes,’ Edith sighed. ‘Oh Harry, how I wish it was us.’

  He squeezed her again. ‘Me too. But our day will come, Edie.’ His voice was quiet but full of conviction. ‘Our day will come.’

  CHAPTER FOUR

  January 1942

  Mary stood in the doorway between the service room and the common room and clapped her hands loudly. ‘Excuse me!’ she shouted over the general hubbub of the nurses enjoying their Saturday morning leisure. Very few had had to work and they were making the most of a few hours with nothing more pressing to do than listen to the wireless or read the paper. ‘Gladys here has something to say.’ She turned to the smaller young woman behind her.

  ‘Er, yes.’ Gladys cleared her throat. Although she wasn’t as shy as when she’d first started working at Victory Walk, she hated speaking in public. She was grateful to Mary, who had no such qualms, for getting everyone’s attention. Mary didn’t flaunt her upbringing but her family’s money and connections meant that she had never lacked confidence. ‘The thing is, I need volunteers. For the victory garden. What with us having a few frosty nights, the parsnips are going to be ready, and I can’t get them all in on me own. So I’d be glad of a helping hand.’ She blushed furiously but held her nerve to the end of her sentence.

  ‘Any takers?’ Mary demanded brightly. ‘I’d do it myself but I’ve promised to sort out donations of clothes down at the church hall. Come on now, don’t be backward about coming forward. A lovely fresh morning like this, who’d want to be cooped up inside?’

  One look at the faces turned towards her gave the answer – they all did.

  ‘Cos you’re getting parsnip soup this evening,’ Gladys explained, ‘only there won’t be no soup if there’s no parsnips.’

  Belinda sighed dramatically. ‘Stands to reason. All right, I’ll do it. I’m not going on my own though.’ She looked meaningfully at the rest of them.

  Bridget put down her newspaper, wrinkling her freckled nose, the crossword only half completed. ‘They’ve made that extra difficult this week,’ she said, pointing at it. ‘I’ll join you. Can’t deprive you brave girls of your soup, can I?’ After over a year in London, her Irish accent was as strong as ever.

  This made Edith feel guilty. She wasn’t particularly fond of parsnip soup but it would be filling. ‘I’ll join you,’ she said. ‘And Alice will come too, won’t you, Al?’ Alice was absorbed in a long article in The Times and had barely registered what was going on.

  ‘Right, yes, of course,’ she said, hurriedly refolding it. ‘Why did you say that?’ she hissed at Edith as they made their way up to their attic rooms to change into their oldest clothes.

  ‘Because you always spend the weekend with your head in the paper or a book and exercise is good for you,’ Edith replied instantly. ‘Are you going to wear that green wool scarf, Al? Can I borrow it if not? I’ve gone and left mine at Dr Patcham’s surgery. I remember taking it off when I popped in yesterday and then I forgot it.’

  ‘We could go and collect it later,’ offered Alice. ‘I’ve got my blue one, I’ll wear that.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Edith disappeared into her small room.

  Alice opened her own door and crossed to the small desk on the opposite side, under the dormer window that looked out over the Dalston rooftops. Gaps were visible in many of the terraces where houses had taken direct hits in the air raids, but Alice’s eyes were drawn to a creased and battered Christmas card which stood on her desk. The print of the robin was somewhat the worse for wear, but she didn’t mind in the least. It was nearly a month late, and must have taken a very indirect route, but finally she had confirmation that Joe was still alive – or at least he had been when he wrote the card.

  She picked it up and read it again, smoothing the card as she did so. As well as the standard good wishes for Christmas and the coming year, he’d added, ‘I’m looking forward to rereading Lorna Doone.’ That had made her smile. She couldn’t imagine him reading it even once as it was so romantic, let alone twice. So he’d included that to tell her where he was. She knew the book was set on Exmoor, and thought it unlikely any naval ships would be based there – but, of course, it wasn’t far from Plymouth. That would be it.

  Setting it down once more, she gave a deep sigh. First Scapa Flow, then Plymouth. Opposite ends of Britain and both cruelly far from Dalston. She knew it could have been much worse: naval vessels were now in North Africa, or India or the Far East. Yet Plymouth felt impossibly far away. ‘Stop it,’ she murmured. ‘You can write to him. He’s alive and well, that’s the main thing.’ She could not quite admit even to herself jus
t how much she missed him, how worried she had been when Christmas came and went without a word.

  ‘Al, you in there? You ready yet?’ called Edith from the corridor. Hastily Alice grabbed her oldest jumper and began to change.

  The victory garden had once been a pair of terraced houses two streets along from the nurses’ home, but they had been totally destroyed in a direct hit in a raid last spring. Rather than let the land go to waste, it had been turned into a plot for growing vegetables. All over London, green spaces were being dedicated to producing food for a nation under siege. Those who were lucky enough to have front or back gardens planted them up. Even the grounds of Buckingham Palace were being put to good use. Closer to home, vegetable plots were to be found in Victoria Park, and allotments were in demand all around the borough.

  The hardest thing had been the digging down to find uncontaminated soil. The first few feet were likely to be toxic after the bombing, and so the nurses had set to with determined energy. Stan and Billy had been recruited to help. Harry had come to watch, on one of his few visits home, and had been amazed to find that Edith, with her tiny frame, had been able to wield a spade as well as the rest of them.

  ‘Hah, you think that just because I’m small that I’m delicate,’ she had laughed. ‘I tell you, riding around on that old boneshaker of a bike, you have to have muscles of steel. That, and lifting patients of all shapes and sizes. Don’t you forget it.’

  Now Edith plunged ahead, climbing the slight mound that marked the boundary of the plot. Gladys was already there, a large trug at her feet. She had pitched up the sleeves of her shabby coat, and her hands were muddy. Bridget and Belinda had also arrived before them, and they were taking out trowels from a canvas bag. ‘Here, we saved a couple for you,’ Bridget called.

  Alice didn’t mind digging out the vegetables. Her father had been proud of the vegetable plot in the back garden of her childhood home in Liverpool, and her mother would encourage the young Alice to help her pick blackcurrants, which she would then turn into delicious tarts, crumbles and jam. Her parents had written to tell her that they had got rid of the flower beds and planted vegetables and fruit there as well. They’d even started keeping chickens. Alice sighed as she thought of the luxury of fresh eggs for breakfast every day.